I recently read in a book that difficult journeys are the best, and I second that being an adventure enthusiast. I have had far more fun in my treks instead of simple journeys. But this blog is a patchwork of just a simple street. I could never have anticipated that there would be so many aspects to a street that I live on. I am restless as a person and I have randomized way of thinking, so a couple of days back I decided to start walking to get back in shape and I said to myself, ‘let me just start with my service lane.’ As I stepped out of the main door of my house I felt the sun’s rays hitting my face, but I did not feel the tormenting Gurgaon’s heat at all because as I put my face down; my eyes pointed straight to the beautiful shrubby pink Bougainvilleas stuck to the grill, which was extremely soothing and at that moment I knew that this walk will be intriguing. I witnessed the residents’ car chauffeurs who were sitting on their motorcycles chatting with each other and some washing the cars as a daily routine. I assumed the owners to be cruel, because to put someone through washing cars in almost 44 degrees celsius is nothing less but an act of cruelty. I was able to empathize with them and thanked god that they have each other to talk to. After all, don’t we all need company to share our joys and sorrows? I chanced upon seeing a lost stray dog and recalled that a couple of months back the ‘Residents Welfare Association’ organized shelters for stray dogs. The service lane has two security barriers to the left and the right ends of a corner, I went up to the security guard on the right end corner and asked him that why is it that this dog is so lost? Why isn’t he in the shelter with other dogs? To which he replied, ‘I don’t know anything, I am new here.’ Despite the fact that I have been seeing him since four months, I wonder if they are trained by their supervisors to reply with a standard answer. A security guard should be well informed about the vicinity and well trained to overcome any obstacle for the welfare, but in India this role is reversed, all residents are their own security. I discerned disparity throughout my walk and I failed to fathom a few things. It is one of the posh areas in Gurgaon or rather Gurugram, and if anyone who comes here will be revered by the surroundings. Who would not like watching little kids walking in groups, maids walking back home holding umbrellas to refrain from heat after their hard work; the baby birds flying at a slow pace to get to their mother’s and the squirrels climbing up the huge and colossal trees, servants walking with their owner’s dogs so they could pee and poop, gardeners mowing the lawns in order to make it immaculate so the house owners could swank the other. There was a methodical approach to the street which baffled me. There were dustbins on the lane to throw garbage and mirrors placed in turns to avoid collisions but there are always glitches to every systematic implementation in our incredible country, I glimpsed at a broken ketchup bottle and plastic bottles all over the street. The car chauffeurs or car owners don’t have the intentions to stop at the pedestrians. I do not completely blame lack of education because it isn’t just the chauffeurs; it is even the car owners who do not stop. Vanity has taken over in the natives of our country and it has to reform. People need to become more compassionate towards each other. As I finished my last round I was woebegone coming across a dead chameleon in the middle of the street. I am well aware of the animal cruelty in the world and bemused with the fact that why do humans marvel at killing them. They might be a tad bit different but also possess body parts. As I was about to reach home I gazed at a man who stopped his motorcycle on the side to speak on his mobile phone, I slowed my pace deliberately until he finished his conversation and in about five minutes he took off. I smiled to myself and thought that the natives do have the potential to transform for the better.
Do not think that it is over, there is more to it.
He heard the sound of intermittent rain and was pleased. He wore his shorts and a pair of walking shoes; he looked out of the door’s window and took a good look at the beautiful moon which was evanescing. He could hear the dogs barking and thought that they are in trouble; he had a soft heart for dogs on the streets, so he rushed out of his main door once again. As he stepped out, the sound of barking dogs was replaced by the doltish events.
Wait, this is not fiction and there is no protagonist. This is a travel blog and I am the travel writer establishing for all of you the nature of my gaze.
To begin with I was on the street once again at night, and the weather was extremely pleasant, to the right, the neighbors ‘chauffeur was parking the BMW and the owner following him in his white Porsche Cayenne. To the left, the owner’s caretaker enjoined someone to park their different brands of cars at the owner’s various abodes. Then I stood in the middle and sighted the street from every trajectory, and all I could do was admire the lush greenery and its aroma and the luminosity of street light poles. The wind howled straight towards me and I savored those few seconds of solitude. It is then when I comprehended the notion of calling this locality ‘Nirvana Country.’
I apologize for missing out on a few images as I could not capture the same moments. I was not able to find the dead chameleon again and that is a good thing. I hope all of you understand